ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME ONE
━━ ❛ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 ❜
chapter no. 028!
❝ AND I AM GUILTY. ❞
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"I AM CRAZY ABOUT SAM. I LIKE HIM, LIKE HIM, LIKE HIM, BUT I JUST— I WISH HE WAS MORE LIKE AN OUT-OF-THE-BOX TAKE-CHARGE KIND OF GUY." Penelope Garcia vented, whirling around to face Morgan as they exited his office.
Furrowing his brows, Morgan stopped and leaned against the doorframe. "Okay, well, what do you mean by "take charge"?"
"Okay. Valentine's day. I planned everything from dinner to dessert, and by dessert, I mean me." The two laughed. "And I texted him to tell him about it and he wrote back, "Sounds great." Octopus emoticon." Penelope scrunched up her face and shook her head, glancing at the coffee cup in her hands.
Octopus emoticon? What's that mean?
Morgan hummed. "Uh, I'm not quite sure I know what that means, but I guess it's kind of sweet. What's wrong with that?"
At his response, the blonde groaned and rolled her head back. "Not you, too. Rose said the exact same thing last night."
"Okay, baby girl, did you tell him about this?" Morgan asked, sliding his hands into his pockets.
"Did I tell him..." Penelope trailed off, brows furrowing. "I wanted him to take charge? Not really. Not at all."
Sighing, the dark-skinned man gestured for her to follow him. "Let me let you in on a little secret. Guys, we don't do well with subtle clues. Okay? You gotta be direct, straight up. Just tell him exactly what you want."
The analyst's face lit up. "I learn something from you every day," she gasped, coming to a sudden halt. "Okay, what about you? Spill it. What are you doing for Valentine's day?"
Coming to a stop, he turned to her. "I was thinking about a little candlelit dinner at Le Donkle's overlooking the Potomac." He snorted when Penelope's eyes widened.
"Oh, that is romantic," she gushed. "Look at us. We're all grown up. We're like... Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. And Savannah and Sam." As the pair neared closer to the lobby, an elevator bell could be heard dinging. "Oh, can Sam be Jennifer Garner?"
Morgan's line of sight landed on a familiar face and he noted the coffee cups in the person's hands. "Valentine."
"Valentine? Like as in our sweet angel Caralyn Valentine or Valentine's day?"
"Valentine." Morgan nodded toward the elevators.
Doing a one-eighty, her gaze landed on Cara Valentine right as she was exiting the elevator, two cups of coffee in hand. "Valentine, oh, Valentine, my love!" Penelope called.
Swiveling her head to the left, Cara raised a brow at the sight of Morgan and Penelope staring at her. "Hi," she greeted plainly, making her way over.
"Reid?" Morgan questioned, nodding to the to-go cups.
Cara shrugged. "He had something to do this morning, so..." she trailed off, brows furrowing slightly as the two were smirking at her. She hated it when they did that. Either they were about to tease her for getting the resident genius coffee or they had a scheme that somehow involved her.
"The lovely and sexy Derek Morgan here was just telling me about his Valentine's day plans for Savannah." Penelope beamed, watching as the woman in front of her blinked.
"What do you have planned?" Cara asked after two seconds passed, getting the silent message that she was supposed to ask Morgan what his plans were.
"A candlelit dinner at Le Donkle's overlooking the Potomac," he replied, rolling back his shoulders.
A tiny smile tugged at Cara's lips. "That's nice," she commented, yet her voice was void of any emotion.
Morgan tilted his head. "What about you?" he probed, tempted to chuckle as the woman grew confused.
"I'll be here working on paperwork and then reading The Tale of Melibee by Chaucer when I get to my apartment," she replied, rolling her eyes when both agents' faces dropped. "It might sound lame to you two but I happen to like spending my nights reading. It's the only hobby I have other than trafficking drugs and I'm currently retired and contracted to the F.B.I., so that's not an option."
The dark-skinned man next to her snorted, shaking his head. "Wow. You and Reid really are made for each other," he sighed. She glared at him but held her tongue.
"So, you're telling us that you and Boy Genius aren't doing anything special?" Penelope checked, raising a brow. She and Morgan were going to have to talk with Spencer later.
Groaning, Cara threw her head back. "No, because we're only friends and there's nothing romantic there. You keep digging for a treasure that doesn't exist, bubblegum," she pointed out.
The colorful blonde gasped. "You finally called him your friend, that's the first step!"
Using her right hand, which was wrapped around a coffee cup, Cara lifted her middle finger. A sarcastic smile appeared and Morgan laughed.
"Garcia harassing you about Spence again?" A voice called and she turned around. A genuine smile spread across her face at the woman walking toward them.
"JJ! You're back!" Penelope cheered, hastily handing Morgan her coffee and shuffling her way forward.
"And ready to get to work," JJ stated, chuckling when Penelope pulled her into the world's biggest hug. Once retracting, she embraced Cara quickly, the action surprising the blonde.
Oh, we're hugging now. Okay.
Morgan smiled, glad she was back. "How you feeling?"
"I'm— I'm fine," she reassured them as she and Cara let go of the other, recognizing their budding concern. "Don't get me wrong, I love my boys to death, but I was starting to get a little stir-crazy."
Cara smirked, but it dropped from her lips a second later.
"Well, let's do this," Morgan stated, gesturing for the women to go first into the BAU.
Everyone headed straight to the conference room. Penelope was asking JJ if she wanted tea while Cara and Morgan were silent. Walking up the stairs and turning left, they joined Blake, Rossi, and Hotch.
"Welcome back!" Rossi greeted, giving JJ a nod of welcome. She shot him a small smile.
As everyone began to sit down, Spencer arrived. "You sure two weeks is enough time?" he brushed by her and Cara, gently placing a hand on Cara's back and smiling when she handed him his coffee.
Pulling out the chair between JJ and Blake, she sat down in her usual spot. This time, however, Blake was sitting across the round table with Rossi on her left. Rather, Spencer took her place. This change in seating didn't capture Cara's attention though as she was preoccupied with glossing her eyes over the new case.
"Oh, I'm fine." JJ waved her hand, dismissing the question. "And, yes, Will made sure I got clearance from two doctors." She and Blake shared warm smiles.
Hotch gave her a nod. "Glad you're okay. We should get started."
The analyst nodded and picked up a tablet and remote. "Yes, sir. Pittsburgh field office has reported two murders in the past forty-eight hours." Penelope announced, clicking down on the remote as she spoke and five photos of the victims and crime scenes appeared. Narrowing her stare slightly, Cara studied the thin red and purple lines painted around their necks, consistent with strangulation as they were visibly beginning to bruise over.
"Both of them were strangled, then stripped down to their underwear, and then dumped off of a highway," Hotch added, staring at the photographs.
"Have we I.D.'d the victims?" JJ asked, briefly looking up from her file.
Penelope shook her head. "No, not yet."
Rossi hummed, examining the marks of strangulation. "The guy has a lot of rage. He's using some kind of ligature, maybe a strip?"
"It looks like he's choking them intermittently, allowing them to breathe only when he permits it." Morgan jutted his chin toward the monitor. Penelope enlarged one of the photos and zoomed in on the markings.
Breathing in somewhat deeply, Cara couldn't help but feel the slightest bit unnerved. Intermittently choking someone was a means of killing during the Red Blood ritual. It was a means with which she was incredibly familiar.
"But the M.E. report says neither was sexually assaulted," Hotch said, reading over the copy of the report in his folder.
Spencer's brows bunched together. "That's odd given the fact that eighty percent of crimes against women involve some sort of sexual component."
Unable to help herself, Cara interjected, "It's the choking that gets the UnSub off." Everyone glanced at her. "Sexual assault isn't the end-all-be-all. It's not as satisfying. Choking is."
She was right. "Some form of erotic asphyxiation filtered through a psychopath's need for power and control." Morgan further explained.
"Okay, what is this?" JJ's focus was on the photographs. "Are they wrapped in shower curtains?"
All attention swiveled to the monitor. Cara's nose scrunched up with distaste.
"Strangely, yes." A mildly disgusted look obscured the analyst's features. "Which is why I'm checking with a number of manufacturers to see where these were distributed from."
Blake placed her folder down, leaning forward on the table. "The M.O. says sexual sadist, but the curtain reads as remorse."
"Sexual sadists don't feel remorse," Spencer spoke matter-of-factly, his eyes lingered on Cara for a few seconds longer than anybody else as he glanced around the table.
"Maybe it's his shame?" Blake proposed, shoulders shrugging.
"Or maybe he's impotent," JJ suggested, folding her hands together. "He doesn't rape because he can't."
"And the embarrassment of not being to perform manifests in him wrapping up his victims," Morgan gestured to the screen on the wall with his cup of coffee.
Rossi considered the theory. It made sense; it could work. "He doesn't want to look at them after he kills them."
"Which points to either symbolic or a literal emasculation. We need to find out." Hotch announced, standing up from the round table and grabbing his files. "Wheels up in thirty."
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THE COFFEE ON THE JET SUCKED. Like royally sucked. Cara Valentine despised it and how she felt was clearly displayed on her face. No amount of sugar or coffee creamer could fix it, regardless of the lies she told herself that it could.
"You do realize that glaring at the coffee won't make it taste any better, right?" Morgan snorted, reaching around Cara's still figure. She was standing in front of the coffee pot, a hard and cold glare fixated on the mug.
Cara didn't move. "You'd think the government would provide coffee of good quality," she grumbled, heaving a sigh.
Morgan snorted, refilling his cup. "Mmm. You'd think so."
"This guy's definitely mobile. We might be looking at a long-distance trucker." Rossi said, breaking up the fading conversation between Morgan and Cara. The rest of the team was seated, reviewing the case before they landed.
"Garcia already checked into it." JJ ran a hand through her hair, eyes flickering to the right as Morgan and Cara sat back down on the couch. "She didn't find any major routes in or around the dumpsites."
Morgan held his coffee in one hand and flipped through the crime scene photos with the other. "Speaking of dumpsites, our most recent victim was found fifty miles from where she was last seen," he added.
"It looks like security cameras picked her up at a gas station but never saw who she left with." Spencer recounted the notes provided to the team by the local authorities.
Cara took a gulp of the hot drink cradled in her hands, listening.
"Maybe that's where he found her. It's the perfect hunting ground." Blake commented, looking around at everyone.
"It fits the witness' statements. According to the cashier, the victim had been there for several hours asking customers for a ride." JJ leaned her cheek against the palm of her hand, feeling a small wave of exhaustion cross over her. She was grateful to be back, but everything felt a little overwhelming. It'd been two weeks but it felt like a lifetime.
Cara frowned slightly, a thought coming to mind. "If she lived locally, she could have made it home. Instead, she waited. She must've been headed somewhere in the distance."
Blake nodded in agreement. "She could be from anywhere. Maybe that's why the UnSub chose her."
"He doesn't just pick victims of opportunity. He targets women who won't be missed." Spencer breathed, sweeping his gaze to the blonde on the couch. In her hand, she twiddled a pen while the other held her coffee. Eyes downcast, she was studying the case, not yet aware of his lingering stare.
The sound of the TV monitor beeping echoed and the technical analyst's face appeared on the screen mounted to the wall, feet behind the seats JJ and Spencer sat in. "Good news, crime-fighters! I tracked the shower curtains this creep has been using to burrito his victims. Turns out they're commercial-grade, sold in bulk to a bunch of economy motels, a list of which I just sent you."
"It makes sense. It's a secure secondary location." Blake reasoned, head tilting to the side as she talked.
Rossi responded without missing a beat. "Either he doesn't want to draw attention to his home or someone is living with him."
"Rossi, you, Valentine, and Blake go to the M.E.," the three nodded, "JJ and Reid, go through Garcia's list of motels. Morgan and I will go to the field office and cover victimology with Agent West." Hotch announced.
────
LOVERS. That's who murdered those two women— lovers. They were looking for a team. That new bit of information provided to them moments ago from JJ and Spencer was helpful, but only brought more questions than answers. Especially when it came to examining the victims' bodies.
"C.O.D.'s pretty straightforward." The M.E. shrugged. Blake watched as Cara was eyeing the body before them silently. "They died of asphyxiation as a result of ligature strangulation. Leather fibers in the cuts make me think he used some sort of belt."
Rossi read from the report, "There are no defensive wounds."
"Correct," the man replied. "Her larynx was completely crushed, though."
"Wait," Cara mumbled, inching closer to the corpse and leaning down, "take a look at her fingernails."
Blake joined her, lowering herself so she could get a good look at what the blonde was talking about. The woman's nails were freshly cut and painted. It was clear that she'd recently gotten a pedicure of some sort. "For a woman who lives on the streets, she appears well-groomed," she observed.
"Yeah, it was the same with both victims. I'd say they bathed shortly before the attacks occurred." The M.E. began walking toward the wall behind him, opening one of the lockers and rolling out the other victim. Cara instantly made her way over. Every inch of her had zoned in on the strangulation marks on the victim's neck. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't look away.
"Oh, trust me, I was all for her going to prison. I would love nothing more than to see her rot in a cell; going insane at the fact that she is completely isolated and alone; to drown in the reality that she has no one left that cares about her. But my wonderful, beautiful, dreams were crushed when Arthur decided it would be better to set her free; that way we could punish her like the others," he finished, and she narrowed her eyes.
Hotch furrowed his brows as he sat up even more. "The others?" he asked, eyeing the man before him.
"Oh— she hasn't told you?" Farell asked, gesturing to Cara with his cuffed wrists. She silently breathed in deeply, knowing very well what it was he was alluding to. "All those who betray, or fall out of line, are placed on a stage. Members get to bid on what method of torture they would like to see performed, and the equivocator gets served their punishment." The well-known Red Blood punishment was something she had never been a victim of but something she'd forced upon others. It was a ritual that scared the living hell out of everyone and left them with permanent scars, both internally and externally. However, it came as part of the territory of being a Scorpion. "Caralyn Valentine has been on that stage many times. Primarily on the giving end. This time, however, Arthur said that the punishment would solely be up to me and I could keep her as long as I wanted to."
"Between this and the shower curtain, cleanliness is important to them." Blake mused, crossing her arms.
Glancing over at the first room, Cara watched as Farell had his arms crossed and was staring blankly at the chair adjacent to him. "Which part?" she asked, keeping her eyes on him. It was nearly impossible to read him, let alone begin to imagine what he was thinking in that twisted mind of his. He was the most difficult to read out of the three leaders. Owen was always the easiest and Arthur followed behind him, but Farell... he was different.
"The punishment ritual." Morgan clarified and she turned her head towards him.
"It's called the Red Blood. I didn't bother to disclose information about it because it doesn't affect your case. Let alone any of you. There's no need to bring up something that, in the grand scheme of things, isn't beneficial to know." Cara spoke stoically, keeping her eyes locked with his.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out the outline of a small frown crossing the brown-haired man's face. "But it affects you," Spencer said.
Cara shrugged. "Be that as it may, I'm used to it. The Red Blood comes with the territory of being a Scorpion. You'll never be efficient in your job if you don't learn to compensate for the hardships that are attached to it." She explained; her attention back to focusing on Kirk Farell.
Rossi hummed. "That could be part of their ruse. They promise shelter and a warm shower."
Blinking, Cara quickly gathered herself before inserting herself back into the conversation. "Which would be a perfect opportunity to carry out a sexual assault, but they don't," she forced herself to glance away from the body in front of her, meeting the other agents' stares. "Rather, they allow their victims to get partially dressed in their underwear before they kill them. When it comes down to it, this isn't about sex with the victims. It's about sex with each other."
"But if we're dealing with two men who are sadists, they would leave the woman naked to humiliate her." Blake pointed out, motioning to the victims.
Cara straightened her spine. "Let's not assume and jump to conclusions," she said, walking back over. She needed to start putting distance between herself and the bodies. "What if one of the two is a female partner?"
Rossi's lips tugged upward. She was getting better at this.
"So then we're looking at a male and a female who are most likely in some sort of romantic relationship." Blake re-established.
"And they're using murder as their foreplay," the Italian man sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Valentine, call Morgan. He and Hotch are working on victimology, this could help."
Thank God. Each second that passed was one second too long. Memories were beginning to come to the surface, clouding her mind. She needed to leave. "Got it." Digging into the pocket of her coat, she exited the room and pulled out her phone, dialing Morgan's number. Only three seconds had passed when the line stopped ringing.
"Hey, baby girl, please tell me something I wanna hear," Morgan answered cheekily, dragging out the word 'please'.
Cara pressed her lips together. Someone most certainly did not look at their caller I.D. and she was tempted to laugh. "We believe the UnSubs are a male and female partnership, dark chocolate thunder." Oh, she was never going to let him live this down.
All was silent, but the blonde could vividly picture him squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head.
"Pretty Girl... sorry 'bout that."
"Mhm. Make sure to check your caller I.D. next time, D."
"Yup. Will do."
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ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER MURDER. The love birds, now theorized to be a married couple, had struck again. This time they killed a man— not a woman.
"Huh. This is a first for them." JJ remarked, leaning against the railing that separated them from the five-foot drop below. She, Cara, Spencer, and Morgan had just arrived at the latest crime scene in one of their rented black SUVs.
The lead detective was crouched down next to the victim, "Aside from gender, the M.O. is the same."
"Their dynamic changed," Cara said, eyes trailing over the scene. As she spoke, Morgan jumped down to get a closer look. "The male victim indicates that the partnership between the two is now catering to the female UnSub's desires. He's no longer the center of attention." In her peripheral vision, she could see Spencer leaning over her shoulder to get a better look.
"They haven't displayed that behavior before. Up until now, it appears it's been the male picking the victims." Spencer stated, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he took a small step forward, inching closer to the blonde.
"Which typically indicates a dominant/submissive relationship," Morgan commented, head tilting to the side.
Spencer's stare washed over the crime scene for the seventh time, unaware of how close he'd gotten to Cara. "It looks as though her psychopathology could be evolving," he noted.
"Possibly, but I don't think so." Cara paused, a thought coming to mind. She was just as equally unaware as the good doctor was. "We need to look at this from a marriage perspective."
Morgan's brows rose exceedingly high behind his sunglasses. "Valentine, what do you know about marriage?" When the question left him, it was then that he saw the minimal amount of distance there was between Pretty Boy and Pretty Girl. A smirk crept onto his face and he locked eyes with JJ, who'd also noticed.
"Not shit, if I'm being frank," Cara folded her arms across her chest as the detective snorted, "but what I do know is that in any long-term relationship, the key to its success lies in the act of compromising."
Tipping her head to the side, JJ nodded. "Valentine's right. This murder could be their way of sharing responsibility." Glancing to the left, she picked up on the way Spencer was staring at her fellow blonde. There was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips and every muscle on his face was relaxed.
"He let the woman choose the victim," Spencer voiced, finally breaking his prolonged gaze on Cara. "That could be problematic." He rocked back on his heels.
"Now that she's been given control, she might not want to let it go." Morgan sighed, placing both hands on his hips. This case just got even better. "We should call Hotch."
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THE DAY OF LOVE. It was finally there, and nearly every agent at the F.B.I. had been eagerly awaiting the end of their shift. Especially Penelope Garcia. She'd been bouncing on the balls of her feet all day and wearing a contagious smile. Not to mention quietly singing Just the Way You Are nonstop. Which was exactly what she was doing right now.
"Oh, her eyes, her eyes, make the stars look like they're not shinin'," Penelope sang for the twentieth time, wrapping her arms around JJ's shoulders. She swayed them side-to-side. "Her hair, her hair, falls perfectly without her tryin'," she grinned when she heard JJ chuckle. "She's so beautiful, and I tell her every day."
"Yeah, I know, I know; when I compliment her, she won't believe me," JJ continued, rolling her eyes playfully at Penelope's ecstatic expression. "And it's so, it's so, sad to think that she don't see what I see."
Feet away at his desk, Morgan interrupted them. "Shut up." The two words were said to the tune of the song's melody.
JJ snorted, shaking her head as she finished collecting her belongings. "Thanks for that, Morgan."
"Anytime."
Scowling, Penelope brought a hand to her chest, offended. "Don't ruin the vibe, eyebrows," she gave him a glare, but it quickly turned into a smirk at the sight of his face. "Now that you've interrupted my magical musical moment go knock some sense into Reid. It's Valentine's day. Something's got to give with those two." She jutted her chin in the direction of Spencer and Cara.
The two were working diligently, each off in their own world and not paying attention to a thing. Throughout the entire day, neither had been up to much conversing. They'd been relatively quiet, but so had most of the people in the office. And by the looks of it, they weren't moving anytime soon.
Morgan shook his head pitifully at the pair. Kids. "Yeah, I got it," he told the two blondes, putting his bag back in his chair. Hopefully, his words of wisdom wouldn't fall on deaf ears this time. "I know you think you're not ready, but please tell me you have at least something small planned," he pleaded, making his way over to Spencer's desk.
Looking up from the pile of paperwork in front of him, the genius blinked. He'd completely zoned out. "What?"
Morgan squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. "It's Valentine's day, Reid. Tell me you are doing something with Valentine."
At his statement, Spencer furrowed his brows and double-checked the day's date. February fourteenth. Oh. Oh. "Wait, d-do you mean something as in like a date or romantic gesture?" he asked, suddenly conscious of the suggestive looks being shot his way from JJ's desk where Penelope and JJ stood. Both women had their arms crossed and were nodding toward Cara. Darting his attention to the ex-convict, he saw that she was sitting at her desk, hunched over a case file and twirling a pen in her hand.
"Valentine's day is the international day of love, Pretty Boy." Morgan pointed out, dragging the doctor's attention back to the conversation.
"Actually, Saint Valentine's Day is not a public holiday in any country. Although it is an official feast day in—"
"All right, I'm gonna take that as a big fat "no," and tell you what's about to happen." Frowning, Spencer reluctantly closed his mouth. "You can deny it all you want, but I know you like Pretty Girl. The team knows it. You know it. And I'm fairly certain she feels something too. It's worth a shot, Reid. Your happiness is worth a shot, and tonight could be the perfect night if you let it be. JJ, Garcia, and I are about to leave for our dates. Hotch and Rossi are already gone. So is Blake. It'll be just you two. Take advantage of this window of opportunity. Go over to her desk, ask her on a coffee date or whatever it is the two of you like to do together, and sweep her off her feet by midnight."
Sweep her off her feet by midnight? What did that mean?
His brows scrunched together in confusion as he glanced over at Cara again. She was completely oblivious to their conversation and his lingering gaze as she was off in her own world. From where he sat, he and Morgan could hear her humming a familiar tune. It was the same tune she'd been humming along to the past few weeks. Her head was teetering side-to-side as she hummed, continuing to twirl the pen in her hand absentmindedly as her eyes roamed over the papers covering her desk. The boots she'd worn to work had been tossed to the side, and she was sitting with her legs crossed in her chair.
She looked comfortable and relaxed; she'd allowed herself to consider this a safe place. And that thought caused his lips to curl.
"Your happiness is worth a shot," Morgan repeated, clapping Spencer on the shoulder as he pushed off the desk. "Goodnight and happy Valentine's day, Valentine!" he called, winking when she looked up, slightly startled.
"Hmm? Oh, right. Hope your date night goes well," she replied, giving Morgan a forced half-smile. The last case and the method of intermittent choking used by the couple had yet to leave her mind. She was drowning in her thoughts, and the only thing keeping her from completely spiraling was humming Walkin' After Midnight under her breath whenever possible.
While everyone else headed out and Spencer kept his attention on her, Cara returned to her work. Signing off on the document in front of her, she swiftly tucked it into a manila folder. A good majority of the folders on her desk were completed. Now, it was time to sort through them and figure out which files she needed to turn in to Hotch and which ones she needed to give to Anderson to file.
Four minutes and eleven seconds passed when she finished sorting through the ones that were completed and setting aside the very few she hadn't gotten to yet. From there, she delivered them to their designated areas. As she did that, Spencer continued to survey her every move, unable to shake Morgan's words. Perhaps he wasn't wrong.
On the way back to her desk from Hotch's office, it was then that Cara finally noticed the doctor's stare. The moment their eyes met, her stomach churned. "Yes?" she questioned, raising an inquisitive brow.
It took the brown-haired man three seconds to realize that she'd said something before his face quickly burned pink as he realized he'd been caught staring. "I uh," Spencer stumbled, clearing his throat as he glanced away. "How do, uh, how do you feel about heading home?"
Tilting her head to the side an inch, she took note of his timid posture. Something was up. Part of her wanted to ask, but she trusted Spencer enough now to know that if something were wrong or bothering him, he'd tell her. So, she let it go and nodded. "I'd feel okay with that," she answered, resuming making her way back to her desk.
At her reply, Spencer nodded and began to gather his things.
Once both of them were ready to go, no words were exchanged as they fell into step with each other. Making their way to the glass doors, Spencer saw the dark circles under her eyes shining through her makeup. However, her physical mannerisms and behavior contradicted the sleep-deprived state the dark circles indicated. There was a still, stoic, blank, and emotionless expression on her face, and she was walking with perfect posture. From what he was able to tell, the blonde was simply just there. If anything, she appeared solemn, not tired.
"Do you have any plans tonight?" Spencer asked, opening the door for her.
Cara blinked, snapping herself out of the bubble of guilt she felt creeping over her. The guilt of her actions associated with the Red Blood was eating her alive. "Mmm, reading, most likely. Why?" she glanced behind her, head slowly turning back around as Spencer reached her side.
Spencer tried to shrug as nonchalantly as he could. "Oh, uh, I mean, it's Valentine's day. I wasn't sure if you were doing anything," he explained, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"If I was, would I have agreed to go back to the apartment complex with you?" she returned, watching as he pressed the downward arrow for the elevator.
"Well, I suppose not," he mumbled, gesturing for her to enter the elevator first when it arrived. As he stepped in after her, he could hear Morgan's comment ringing in his ears.
"Go over to her desk, ask her on a coffee date or whatever it is the two of you like to do together, and sweep her off her feet by midnight."
Maybe he should try. Maybe he was more ready than he realized. Even if it was something small, maybe he should still try. "Would you want want to read together?" The words escaped his lips before he could stop them.
Cara glanced over at him, a bit taken off-guard at the sudden proposition. "As in reading books together tonight?" she clarified, a bit puzzled. Was this why he was behaving so oddly? Had he been nervous to ask her that? They'd hung out plenty of times outside of work, so why was he shy in asking her to now? What'd changed?
"Well... yeah," Spencer answered; his heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt a tad out of his element. In his eyes, this was a big step in moving onward. Even if she didn't know it.
Clearing her throat, Cara pushed aside the questions clouding her mind. "Sure."
Following her reply, a comfortable silence engulfed them. A small smile was creeping onto his face while she simply stared ahead, becoming consumed in her thoughts once more. As much as she wanted to think about what book she'd read when she got to her apartment, she couldn't. Her mind wouldn't allow the images of the women's bodies at the morgue to slip away. Clear as day, she could still picture the thin red and purple lines painted around their necks, consistent with strangulation, and how they had started to bruise over. She couldn't let the case go.
The next twenty minutes and three seconds consisted of the two exiting the F.B.I. Headquarters, taking a three-minute walk to the Metro station, getting on, and then getting off. Never did they speak. Each of them was off in their own mental world, thoughts scattered. It was only five minutes after they'd gotten off that Spencer noticed Cara shiver.
"Are you cold?"
At the sound of his voice, she nearly flinched. It drew her out from the depths of her mind, bringing her back to the present. Turning her head to the right, she saw that the brown-haired doctor was continuously darting his attention from her to the sidewalk and back.
"No, I'm fine," she breathed, now aware of the fact that she was, indeed, cold. Was she going to admit to that? No. They were less than ten minutes away from the complex, where comfort and heat would welcome them. She'd be okay.
Spencer simply nodded at her response.
"Oh, trust me, I was all for her going to prison. I would love nothing more than to see her rot in a cell; going insane at the fact that she is completely isolated and alone; to drown in the reality that she has no one left that cares about her. But my wonderful, beautiful, dreams were crushed when Arthur decided it would be better to set her free; that way we could punish her like the others," he finished, and she narrowed her eyes.
Kirk Farell's daunting words came back to haunt her for a second time, and Cara held her breath.
Hotch furrowed his brows as he sat up even more. "The others?" he asked, eyeing the man before him.
"Oh— she hasn't told you?" Farell asked, gesturing to Cara with his cuffed wrists. She silently breathed in deeply, knowing very well what it was he was alluding to.
Clenching her eyes shut as they continued walking, she willed for the memories to leave her alone. She didn't want to reflect; she didn't want to think about this. All she wanted was for her mind and her heart to shut up. Never before had she wished so desperately that she could be as emotionless as she portrayed herself to be.
"All those who betray, or fall out of line, are placed on a stage. Members get to bid on what method of torture they would like to see performed, and the equivocator gets served their punishment." The well-known Red Blood punishment was something she had never been a victim of but something she'd forced upon others. It was a ritual that scared the living hell out of everyone and left them with permanent scars, both internally and externally. However, it came as part of the territory of being a Scorpion. "Caralyn Valentine has been on that stage many times. Primarily on the giving end. This time, however, Arthur said that the punishment would solely be up to me, and I could keep her as long as I wanted to."
Her eyes flashed open, and the grip she had on her bag tightened.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, hands trembling as she held both ends of the metal wire. "I'm so sorry."
No. No. She wasn't doing this. She couldn't listen to flashbacks of when she carried out the Red Blood.
Out of the corner of his eye, the doctor noticed her shiver for a second time. Biting the inside of his cheek, he hesitantly began to shrug off his sweater. "You lied," he broke the silence.
Cara's brow furrowed, and a sliver of panic spiked at the statement. Had he seen right through her usual facade? Did he know something was wrong? Momentarily, she forgot about what had been weighing on her heavily.
"You're definitely cold."
His words caused her eyes to roll. "Spencer, I'm—" A red button-down sweater was suddenly held out in front of her, and she shut her mouth. The two paused in the middle of the sidewalk; they were only a block away from their apartment building.
"Don't say you're fine. I've seen you shiver twice in the past three minutes," he said, giving her a look. Narrowing her glare, she pressed her lips together. Little did he know, this conversation was saving her from drowning mentally. "If you don't take it, I'll put it on you myself."
Cara's jaw slackened. "Is that a threat?"
A single word didn't leave him as he put his satchel down. Moving until he was standing directly in front of the blonde, he reached over and tugged off her bag, placing it on the ground. Subconsciously, she took a step back, and he inched closer. "You're cold. I can see the goosebumps on your skin." Before she could move back any further, he'd brought the sweater around her body. "Arms." A small smile began to curl onto her lips, and the recent case briefly left her mind. She held out her arms and slipped them into the sleeves.
Once the cardigan was wrapped around her shoulders, she watched as he fastened some of the buttons. "I uh," she cleared her throat, feeling a wave of heat rise to her cheeks. "Thank you." More recently, she kept finding herself flushing at the smallest of actions from him, and she didn't like it. She didn't like how he made her feel but at the same time, she did. It was something she hadn't felt in years.
Her soft-spoken tone caught his attention, and Spencer smiled. "You're welcome," he nodded, taking a step back. He picked her bag off the pavement and handed it to her, taking note of how big his sweater was on her. He liked it.
While he resumed walking ahead, she took a moment to gather herself. The combination of traumatic memories resurfacing and Spencer putting his sweater on her did not mix well. All it did was remind her of her old life and how unworthy she still was to be there with him and be working with the team.
It still felt odd every time she entered headquarters; she still believed she didn't have any right to be working there. After everything that had happened and taking in her past and her actions, she concluded that she would probably never fully understand why the BAU had offered her the position in the first place. Aside from Spencer's involvement.
Only when he had advanced yards away did Spencer realize Cara was no longer by his side. Turning on his heel, he was greeted with the sight of Cara still standing firmly in the middle of the sidewalk. By the looks of it, she hadn't moved an inch. Before he could ask her if she was okay, her head snapped up.
"I need to say something." Cara blurted out of the blue, meeting the genius's gaze. She couldn't keep the inner battle happening inside of her to herself anymore. If she did, she was going to explode.
Meanwhile, her words made Spencer freeze. A sense of panic began to set in but was soon replaced by curiosity and concern when he saw the distressed expression on her face. "Okay," he said, noticing the subtle glimmer in her eyes as she stared at him.
"The last case," she choked out, internally grimacing at how vulnerable she sounded. "The UnSubs' M.O. was a method of torture and punishment we used. The Red Scorpions used. I used." Watching carefully, Cara's heart sank a bit as Spencer frowned, brows furrowing. "The Red Blood. All those who betray, or fall out of line, are placed on a stage. Members get to bid on what method of torture they would like—"
"—to see performed and the equivocator gets served their punishment." Spencer finished, clearing his throat. "I remember."
A lump rose in her throat, and she swallowed harshly. "I've never been a victim of it, where I was placed on the stage, and people voted on my punishment. I was on the giving end. I was the persecutor. What Kirk said was true." Blinking quickly, she glanced at the sidewalk. "Choking members intermittently, allowing them to breathe only when I permitted it. That was one of the main methods I was forced to use. I was twenty-three the first time I ever stood on that stage, and I refused to do it. My job was arranging meets, deals, deliveries, and seducing or sleeping with buyers. That was it. It wasn't supposed to get violent, but it did, and when it did, I put my foot down.
"And when I did that, Owen held a gun to my head and fired empty blanks. I didn't know they were empty, but it was enough to scare me. After that, I was forced to carry out all Red Blood ceremonies until Arthur, Kirk, and Owen deemed that I'd proven myself. Owen was especially hard on me during this time. I had dumped him on the night of the Surrey Six. And this took place four months afterward in February. With our recent case and the fact that six years ago, I tortured people the same way our UnSubs did... I can't stop thinking about the correlation. Flashes of what I've done keep playing on a perpetual loop in my mind, and I just— I feel guilty. And I am guilty.
"But it's not like I can go to those I've hurt and apologize and hope that apologizing will ease this pit in my chest because those people are dead. Arthur and Kirk murdered all of them. They murdered dozens of members, and I was part of that. I contributed to that. If my plan hadn't been carried out, if I hadn't done what they ordered and gotten arrested, those people could still be alive. I tortured some of them and then signed all of their death warrants. And I understand that there could have been multiple different outcomes if things had gone differently, but they didn't. They happened, and I can't shake the guilt. I can't shake the memories, and I'm upset with myself.
"I'm upset, and I-I can't keep bottling things up because I'll end up snapping at you or someone on the team, and that's the last thing I want. Snapping means questions of concern which leads to me lying because I don't want anyone to worry about me. I've taken care of myself for a long time now and don't need to be taken care of, but I just... I don't know. I know I just unloaded a bucket load of shit onto you right now, so please, if you want me to stop, I will." Cara rushed out; her chest was rising up and down laboriously as she struggled to maintain a steady breathing pattern.
The point she was at was reaching a new high, and she'd finally fully opened her mouth. She'd been nothing but honest and was completely exposed, and that realization would normally strike a sense of fear into her, but not with Spencer. With him, she felt and knew she was safe. He was the one person she fully trusted.
The only thing that triggered a small wave of panic was the fact that everything she'd just admitted could alter his perception of her, and he might regret allowing her to confide in him or regret ever risking everything to help her. He meant more to her than she refused to recognize, and she didn't want to jeopardize that.
It was silent for a moment as Spencer replayed everything she'd said.
Thirty-three seconds of silence passed before he stepped forward and wordlessly pulled her into a hug. Rather than returning the gesture, Cara stood frozen on the spot, growing more uncomfortable the longer the act of affection lasted. Receiving affection following a confession that had the potential to deter or scare someone away was odd. Very odd, and she was perplexed by Spencer's actions.
"I quite literally told you about my torturing of other people, and you're hugging me?" she questioned, a trace of incredulity laced within her tone.
Spencer's chin rested atop her head, and he nodded gently. "Yes, because you opened up to me of your own volition. That's progress," he stated; the corners of his lips tugged upward as he felt her arms gradually wrap around him. "It's like I said back in that room in Vancouver: there was no escape from them. You didn't like what you did, but it's what you were placed in. You were stuck, and you knew it. You were just trying to keep your head above water, just as you are now. I see it every time I look into your eyes."
The inside of Cara's stomach churned, and her face burned.
"I don't believe nor think that you are a bad person, Ara. I believe that you're a woman who survived a world that she wasn't supposed to be a part of," he murmured, gradually liking more and more how it felt holding her. "You're a survivor."
Part of her wanted to shake her head, but she'd grown comfortable. "I don't feel like one, but thank you," she sighed.
"Well, you are," he paused, clearing his throat as he gathered the courage to continue. "You can keep the cardigan, by the way," he muttered, feeling her grip on him tighten. "I know that you're too stubborn to ever admit you're cold."
Nodding, she held onto him for a moment longer. "Okay," she whispered, nearly smiling at the fact that he'd come to know her well enough that she was too stubborn to admit to anything.
"Also, I'm proud of you," he added, giving her a gentle squeeze.
Cara returned the gesture. "I'm proud of you, too," she muttered into his chest.
"For what?" Spencer asked, confused.
"For hugging me for one minute and twenty-three seconds, which is one minute and nineteen seconds more than the average time our embraces generally last."
They both fell into a fit of soft laughter, bright smiles lining their cheeks and clouding over that day's work and stress. Tonight meant more to them than they would ever share and qualified as a great Valentine's Day.
For Spencer, it undoubtedly did. Especially since they were going to read later.
And for Cara? Yes, but she wouldn't realize it until years later.